


Starting Off With a Bang

by AetherSeer



Series: Locker Room Rewards [3]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Nudity, Overstimulation, Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-05 06:00:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16804864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AetherSeer/pseuds/AetherSeer
Summary: Everyone has an idea of what kind of post-game celebrations go on in the big leagues. But the guys who’ve been up and down between D.C. and Hershey keep their mouths firmly shut about the details.That, unfortunately, leaves Christian in the dark when he’s sent up.





	Starting Off With a Bang

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is set after the 2017-18 season opener against Ottawa. Christian, Nate, and Tom did not dress for the game.

Christian isn’t sure what to expect after his first game up. He’s heard all the rumors, of course. Everyone has an _idea_ of what kind of post-game celebrations go on in the big leagues. But the guys who’ve been up and down between D.C. and Hershey keep their mouths firmly shut about the details. Which is to be expected. No one wants to be the teammate who spills everyone’s secrets.

But it still leaves Christian in the dark when he’s sent up.

“Is that … normal?”

Holtby looks over at Christian from where he’s unstrapping his pads, then glances at the other side of the locker room where Ovi’s crowding Jakub up against the wall. Ovi’s got one hand cupped around Jakub’s jaw, the other gripping Jakub’s hip. Jakub, for his part, is returning the kiss with enthusiasm. Christian swears he sees a flash of tongue.

“Ovi _did_ just get a hat trick in the season opener,” Holtby says dryly. “And V helped him get two. Don’t be surprised if he joins Kuzy and Ovi on the bench tonight.”

Christian flushes and shoots a nervous glance at the wide bench across the visitors’ locker room. “H-How do you know when—”

Holtby’s teeth are white against his beard. “I think you can figure that one out yourself.”

Christian can’t help it; he looks directly at Nicke. The Caps are unquestionably Ovi’s team, but anyone with an ounce of intelligence knows the locker room belongs to Nicke. Nicke’s authority is soaked into every inch of the room.

Christian shivers.

Nicke’s watching Ovi and Jakub with a look Christian can’t decipher. It’s something like hunger, but more—he can’t think of the word in either English or Swedish. Holtby sets aside the last of his pads and claps Christian on the shoulder. “Make yourself comfortable if you want to stay.”

Nicke slides in behind Ovi as Christian watches, the solid bulk of him pressing Ovi more against Jakub, who gasps and thunks his head back—into Nicke’s waiting hand and not the wall—when that shifts Ovi further between his thighs. “Oh,” Jakub groans.

Christian can feel his face heat as his own arousal flares.

There’s an appreciative buzz around the room; Christian’s not the only one watching Nicke lay a line of sharp possessive nips across Ovi’s broad shoulders. Kuzy catches his eye and smirks. Christian blinks back. Jakub’s sharp inhale and resulting whine has Christian whipping his head back ‘round to watch his fellow rookie getting absolutely wrecked by their captain.

Jakub gets higher-pitched as Ovi works a hand into his leggings, hands scrabbling at the wall behind him. Nicke places one last bite to Ovi’s shoulders and steps away to … admire his handiwork? Get a better view? Christian has no idea, but he can see _everything_ from where he’s standing.

Jakub strains against Ovi’s hold, panting against Ovi’s mouth. His eyes are only half-open, unfocused as his head tips back and his hips stutter forward. “Please, please,” he manages to gasp out.

Ovi’s grin is just as wild as Christian honestly pictured, his tongue poking out between his teeth as his hand moves faster. Jakub freezes, breath stuttering, as he comes over Ovi’s fingers. He starts to slide down the wall, held up only with the help of Ovi’s body still wedged against his. Ovi wipes his hand on Jakub’s leggings and waits for Jakub to catch his breath before steering him to the showers. “Come, rookie. Shower first, then celebrate more with team.”

Christian lets out a tiny moan at that, and he isn’t the only one who hears Jakub’s answering whimper.

Tom, still dressed in his suit, chivvies Christian into helping him move the bench more to the center of the room while the team strips down and showers. It’s lighter than Christian had thought, and the padded surface is soft to the touch. Tom watches Christian run a hand over the padding and grins toothily at him. “Once you earn it,” Tom says, with a touch of wistfulness, “you keep trying to earn it again. It’s a lot, but it’s a good ‘a lot.’”

Christian doesn’t know what to say to that. So he keeps his mouth shut and retreats to his stall to watch as his teammates emerge in clouds of steam. Everyone’s riding high on the win and the exhilaration of Ovi’s explosive start, and Christian still has his own jitters of adrenaline running through his system despite not playing.

Ovi doesn’t immediately head to the bench after stepping out of the showers. He waits, rocking up on his toes, until Kuzy comes out, and then manhandles Kuzy into an enthusiastic kiss. Kuzy flails for a minute and then his hands grip Ovi’s shoulders to let him return the kiss.

They finish with a dramatic dip, Kuzy kicking a leg up around Ovi’s hip to a flurry of sarcastic (and genuine) wolf-whistles and applause. Christian eyes Ovi’s palm bracing Kuzy’s back—noting how Ovi’s muscles bunch as he holds both their weight—and a frisson of _want_ rolls up his spine.

He jumps when a heavy hand settles proprietarily at the small of his back, warm over the fabric of his suit. Carly’s smile is nothing but kind. “C’mon, kiddo. Let’s get you a better seat.”

Christian lets himself be guided over to the stalls and sat down. Carly’s a solid presence next to him, and Christian lets himself relax. He takes another look around the near-empty room.

There’s a faint background of cacophonous joy from the teammates still in the showers. Grubi’s methodically stacking his pads in the corner; Tom’s busy rummaging through one of the trainers’ kits in the corner while Nate watches. As Christian watches, Tom hipchecks Nate to the side, earning a nervous laugh from the Aussie.

Christian’s eyes widen and his face flames when the pair move away from the kit, giving him a glance at its contents: no fewer than seven bottles of lube, a deep bowl of condoms, a box of medical gloves, and a few items that Christian’s only ever seen in porn.

He startles badly when Carly’s hand lands on his upper thigh and squeezes. “Easy, Juicer. No need to look so panicked.”

Christian’s blush must be visible from space by now. “Do the guys expect—?” he manages.

“Nah,” Carly responds easily. “Some guys need a little more … ahm … _bite_ to their celebrations after. You can say ‘no’ to anything. Ovi runs a good room, though, and no one crosses Nicky. If a guy’s not feeling it, no one’s gonna pressure him.”

Christian’s eyes inevitably land on the display of metal clamps again, tracking over the blunt rubber tips and then the sharper, toothed clips. One hand comes up and absently traces over his pectoral, imagining the bite and the pressure. He feels rather than hears Carly’s amused chuckle beside him. “Maybe you’ll try ‘em out if we win in your debut, hm?”

Christian opens his mouth for a denial, but can’t get the words out. He’s saved from having to reply by Oshie practically skipping back into the locker room just in a towel, hair dripping everywhere. Carly sighs, rolls his eyes, and snatches up another towel before catching Oshie in a headlock and aggressively toweling his hair dry. “Menace,” he says fondly.

Oshie just beams back at Carly. He squeezes in next to Christian and slings an arm around Christian’s shoulders, tugging him close. “Carly loves me,” he informs Christian sotto voce, like it’s any secret. Christian lets a smile emerge in the face of Oshie’s earnest grin. “Anyway,” Oshie continues, “it’s definitely Kuzy with Ovi on the bench tonight. Ovi’s gonna try to get Kuzy a hat trick, if you know what I mean.” And he actually tries to wiggle his eyebrows. It looks ridiculous, and Christian starts giggling.

The noise from the showers gets louder, and guys start trooping back into the room in varying stages of undress. After years of pretty much living in locker rooms, Christian’s seen his share of dicks. But the SHL doesn’t have the Reward system, and the Bears had kept it out of the locker room.

V ducks into the room, freshly showered and still sporting that “fucked-out” look Christian recognizes from earlier. He makes a beeline for his stall, getting hair ruffles and a swat to the ass from Devo and Conno, respectively.

The bench remains unoccupied in the middle of the room, although Brooks checks it over again, laying out a few towels and setting a bottle of lube down. He gives Nicke a nod when Nicke comes in. “S’ready, if O’s ready to give the boys a show.” Nicke’s smile is at once both reassuring and terrifyingly intimidating.

The Caps’ Russian contingent re-enters to whoops and applause. Kuzy sketches a bow, and then mock-introduces Ovi. Orlov steps away to join the majority of the D-corps in the stalls as Ovi escorts Kuzy to the bench. Christian recalls Oshie’s words and blatantly stares at the pair of them. He’s never come three times in one night, that’s for sure. He’s never seen anyone else do it, either, despite rumors of this guy or that one achieving it.

Kuzy’s certainly ready for an orgasm, if his blood-flushed dick is any indication. Ovi directs him to kneel up on the bench, knees spread wide and in full view of twenty-odd teammates. Ovi crowds up against his back, and Kuzy leans his head against Ovi’s shoulder, looping one arm up around Ovi’s neck. They look comfortable, not an ounce of shame between them.

“Is it a Russian thing?” Christian asks quietly. Oshie laughs and shakes his head. “Nah. You’d never get Snarls up there in the middle. But Ovi loves it, and Kuzy likes it, too, when it’s team. Good way to start the season.”

Kuzy’s fingers dig into his own thigh when Ovi cups a palm around his straining erection and thumbs over the head. His head tips back. He tucks his nose into the curve of Ovi’s neck, whining softly as his hips jerk forward. Ovi laughs, not meanly, and steadies them both with his other hand resting low in the groove of Kuzy’s pelvis. “Be good for me? For team?” Ovi asks.

Kuzy nods and his hips stutter when Ovi twists his hand just slightly on the upstroke. “Yes,” he gasps out.

Across the room, Christian sees Holts practically haul Andre into his lap. Andre goes easily, swinging his legs over Holts’ thighs to straddle him without missing a beat. Christian leans hard against Oshie’s side, earning a blinding grin and a pat from the hand still slung around his shoulders.

Ovi sets a fast pace, keeping Kuzy held tight against him even when Kuzy starts trying to twist away. Christian stares; Kuzy’s definitely sweating, and he’s producing enough precome to make Ovi’s hand move more smoothly. Still, Christian’s caught off guard when Kuzy arches back and freezes.

 _Oh, that’s_ … _that’s hot._ Maybe it’s a weird thing to think about your teammate, but … given the situation, it’s probably not.

Ovi’s hand slows, but doesn’t stop even as Kuzy’s cock starts to soften. Kuzy’s stomach is streaked with come, a single strand spattering higher up his chest. He whines against Ovi’s throat, trying to curl away from the steady strokes. “No, no, too much.”

Ovi’s clean hand reaches up to stroke over Kuzy’s chest, thumbing over a nipple. Kuzy whimpers. “Look at team,” Ovi tells him. “They watching, so pretty for them, so good. Give me such good pass, let me score goals.” Kuzy pries his eyes open and manages a dazed, overwhelmed glance around the room.

Christian takes a look for himself and feels himself flush even darker than before. Andre’s grinding his ass back against Braden; Eller’s tugged V in beside him, speaking quiet words that have V squirming in his stall. Nisky and Brooks are sitting side-by-side, both obviously hard beneath their towels. Next to Oshie, Carly’s rubbing absently at his own chest, one hand working himself.

Christian’s mouth runs dry when he gets a glimpse. He jumps when Oshie’s hand slips off his shoulders and instead lands high on his thigh. He flicks a glance at Oshie. “It’ll be you up there sometime. Believe me … the boys will treat you good,” Oshie says.

Oshie’s cheeks are ruddy, and his eyes are kind. Christian looks back down, and “aren’t you—?”

“Show’s not over yet,” and … right. Kuzy’s somehow hard again—or maybe just still hard—his knees slipping farther apart. Ovi’s kissing him, swallowing his moans. Kuzy sinks into the kiss, digging his fingers into Ovi’s wild hair. He breaks away to catch his breath.

“Now let me help you score again,” Ovi says, just loud enough for the team to hear. Tom abruptly gets a case of the giggles, burying his face in his hands even as Nicke lets out a long-suffering sigh. Kuzy lets out a cackle, and Ovi pinches his side. He asks something quickly in Russian. Kuzy nods.

Kuzy wobbles slightly when Ovi lets him go, but stays upright on his knees for the four seconds it takes Ovi to retrieve the lube. He loops his arm back around Ovi’s neck when he gets the chance, nosing playfully at Ovi’s necklaces. Ovi strokes a hand down Kuzy’s chest in return, sliding back up to toy with a nipple.

Christian lets out a quiet moan at the same time Kuzy does, imagining those broad, blunt fingers against his own skin. He drops a hand down, touches himself through the fabric of his pants.

Kuzy’s keening now. Ovi has his teeth in action, nipping at the tender skin beneath Kuzy’s ear. He rolls Kuzy’s nipple between the fingers of one hand, flicking the little nub and making Kuzy flinch. He always settles back into Ovi, though, letting out soft noises. Ovi’s other hand is out of Christian’s sight, but Christian has a pretty good idea of what he’s doing.

Christian unbuttons his fly, no longer trusting himself not to ruin his pants, and eases them down around his thighs. He curls his fingers around his cock and just holds it, aware of just how close he is. Watching Kuzy fall apart just meters away is much better than porn, he thinks.

Kuzy jerks forward, precome welling at the tip of his cock. His knees slip even wider, the bench getting slick with sweat. The change in position drops his weight even more against Ovi’s fingers, and his mouth drops open in a silent ‘O.’ Christian can see the steady motion of Ovi’s arm, keeping time with the ‘ah, ah, ahs’ Kuzy’s letting out. Those tiny little noises get increasingly louder, and Kuzy slips lower and lower with each breathy exclamation.

Ovi’s entirely focused on Kuzy. The _room_ is focused on Kuzy, red-faced and beautiful, on display for the team’s pleasure. A reward for their performance, for their win in the season opener.

Ovi’s practically holding Kuzy up at this point, because Kuzy’s legs have given way even as his cock drools out another string of precome. Ovi rumbles another thread of Russian, and he tweaks Kuzy’s already red and abused nipple. Kuzy doubles over, nearly overbalancing and falling off the bench, and shouts wordlessly.

Come spatters the bench padding, an errant spurt catching Ovi’s supporting arm. Ovi withdraws his fingers and wipes them on the towel before folding it and carefully running the cloth over Kuzy’s back and shoulders. Kuzy pants, knuckles white where he’s clutching the bench to keep himself upright. Ovi shushes him when he protests being moved, easing Kuzy into lying on his back on the bench.

Ovi rubs a hand over Kuzy’s short-cropped hair; Kuzy turns his head into the gentle touch. He briefly reminds Christian of a cat. Ovi’s hands smooth over sex-flushed skin, wiping away the worst of the mess. There’s a quiet background of guys shifting and getting themselves off, but no one’s left for the showers yet. “Can get three, Kuzma?” Ovi asks.

Kuzy takes a while to answer, chest heaving. Ovi’s strangely patient, even though Christian can see how hard he is, how much control it’s taking him not to reach down and finish himself. Ovi’s not the only one affected, either.

Kuzy’s cock lies soft against his thigh. He shudders. “Sasha.”

Ovi strokes down Kuzy’s chest again, ignoring the room around the pair of them. Kuzy sighs, and eventually turns his face away from Ovi’s. He shakes his head. “Too soon,” Kuzy manages.

Ovi ducks his head closer, murmuring a question Christian can’t make out. Kuzy nods, and starts to sit up. Nicke’s at his back in a second, hands steadying Kuzy as he wipes himself down, shuddering at the rougher cloth over sensitive skin. Ovi tosses Nicke a new towel, and makes a half-assed attempt at wiping down the bench padding before giving up and just laying another towel down.

They’re going to run out of towels at this rate.

The room’s quieted. Christian glances around, trying to figure out what will happen next. Ovi takes a seat on the bench, thighs spread and on full display. Christian glances sideways at Oshie. Oshie squeezes Christian’s thigh again, harder this time. He nods toward Christian’s lap. “There’s no rule saying you have to wait ‘til the end, you know.”

Christian squirms. “I didn’t play.”

Oshie’s fingers rub against his skin. “You don’t have to play every night to be part of the team,” he says quietly. Christian exhales slowly, glancing from Oshie’s eyes to his red, red mouth to where his fingers are splayed against the pale skin of Christian’s thigh. “We win as a team.”

Christian opens his mouth to say—something, he’s sure—but instead chokes on air as Nicke kneels between Ovi’s spread thighs. Nicke tucks his hair neatly behind his ears and sits back on his heels, hands resting in his lap.

Ovi cups Nicke’s jaw, murmurs something Christian can’t make out. He can see Nicke’s answering smile as Nicke ducks his head, looks up at Ovi through his lashes. That’s … that’s a classic seduction _look,_ and not one Christian expected his alternate to give his captain. Or really for Nicke to give _anyone._

Nicke leans forward, mouths at Ovi’s cock. Christian’s frozen, probably still in shock if he’s honest. Somehow, he’d never really _thought_ about his hometown idol participating in the celebrations. He might have dreamed about what Nicke looked like on his knees, furtive moments stolen in the nights, but it hardly measures up to reality. To Nicke slipping Ovi’s cock down his throat with practiced ease.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” Oshie murmurs. His hand hasn’t moved, but somehow he’s closer than before, breath fanning against Christian’s cheek. Christian can only nod.

Nicke’s closed his eyes, throat working. Ovi has a hand buried in Nicke’s hair, the other bracing himself on the bench. His voice is rough. “So good. So good for me, Nicke.”

Christian’s fingers twitch, start stroking to the rhythm Nicke’s setting. He stifles a yelp when Oshie’s hand leaves his thigh to snake around his back and grab at his hip, tugging him in closer. “This okay?” Oshie checks.

“Y-Yeah.”

Oshie’s hand is warm on Christian’s skin. Nicke’s hair falls out of place, mussed by his movement and Ovi’s fingers. Christian can’t see Nicke’s expression anymore from this angle, but he can imagine the furrow of concentration between his eyebrows. Christian tips his head back, leans against Oshie’s offered shoulder. He’s never going to be able to see Nicke take a faceoff again without thinking about this.

Ovi’s surprisingly quiet when he comes on an exhale, doubling over. Nicke endures his panting for a moment before shoving Ovi backward and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Christian doesn’t know what to make of the look they share when Nicke sits back on his heels.

Nicke’s still hard.

Christian licks his lips. He glances around the room, but no one’s moving—no one’s offering to take care of Nicke, Nicke who had played 20 minutes tonight without a point to show for it.

Ovi pulls Nicke up to his knees and leans down for a kiss. Nicke lets Ovi thread his fingers back through Nicke’s hair, getting a good grip to pull. Christian swallows. Apparently Nicke likes having his hair pulled. Good to know, although Christian privately doubts he’ll ever get the opportunity to find that out firsthand.

Oshie turns his head to murmur against Christian’s hair. “You waiting for permission, rookie?”

 _What?_ Christian doesn’t—oh. He wants to squirm, feels his cheeks heat. He’s not waiting for permission, but … he doesn’t think this, whatever this is, is quite done. Not yet. Oshie doesn’t seem to share that sentiment, given the slow slide of his fingers over Christian’s thigh. “I thought … hat trick?” His voice goes a little high on the last two words, Oshie’s fingertips now resting in the groove of his hip.

“Mm,” Oshie says. He taps Christian’s stomach just beside his treasure trail. “Kuz _might_ be up for another. You wanna keep watching?”

Christian huffs. Oshie’s hand is _so close,_ but still not touching him. He considers his options. He settles for moving Oshie’s hand to where he’s straining to be touched. “If you’re gonna offer, don’t _tease._ ”

Carly laughs from Oshie’s other side. “Yeah, Teej, don’t _tease._ Give the kid what he wants.”

Oshie’s—T.J.’s—smile is infectious and warm when he turns his head and kisses Christian softly. Christian lets T.J. lead the kiss, whines when T.J’s hand starts moving. He might make a protesting noise when T.J. pulls away. Christian’s own face is flaming red, he’s sure. “You don’t want to miss this,” T.J. promises.

Christian forces his attention away from T.J. and, yeah, T.J.’s right. Ovi’s slipped off the bench, and Nicke’s taken his place, trading kisses with Kuzy. Kuzy’s quiet for once, too occupied with keeping up with Nicke’s particular brand of intensity.

Nicke coaxes Kuzy to straddle his lap, never once breaking their kissing. When Nicke’s hands, delicate, soft and deadly accurate, cup Kuzy’s ass and spread him wide, someone in the room whistles under their breath. Christian glances around.

“You’re really gonna try for three,” Eller says, pale eyebrows high. Christian doesn’t say anything about how V’s obviously hard in his shorts, tucked up beneath Eller’s arm. V catches his eye and makes a face. Christian’s not actually sure what the message is there.

Muffled whimpers draw his attention back to the bench, where Nicke’s fucking up into Kuzy in short, unhurried thrusts, working his way in. Kuzy has his back to the room, head in the crook of Nicke’s shoulder. Christian can’t see, but he’s willing to bet Nicke’s gonna have a bruise in the shape of Kuzy’s teeth.

T.J. matches his rhythm to the one Nicke sets, holding Christian still with his other hand on Christian’s hip. “You’re gonna get up there one of these days, Djoos,” he says.

“D-men don’t really—hn—score goals,” Christian gets out.

Carly leans around T.J., snagging a towel on his way. “Yeah,” he says, “I wouldn’t worry about that.” He drags his eyes down Christian’s body. Christian’s sure he looks a mess—shirt rucked up, pants around his knees, T.J. speeding him toward orgasm with every stroke.

T.J.’s teeth close around Christian’s earlobe and tug. Christian gasps and arches up. T.J.’s callouses rub just right against his skin, and he can hear Nicke murmuring sweet praise in Swedish, and Kuzy’s answering overwhelmed noises, and the background hum of his teammates in various states of arousal around the room and—

Christian reopens his eyes when coarse fabric brushes against the skin of his belly, mopping up his come. T.J. kisses him again, smiling against Christian’s lips. “Hey, rookie.”

Christian’s chest heaves, his shirt suddenly too constricting. Shit, did he—T.J. offers up the towel, wiping off his fingers. “No mess, don’t worry. Unless you’re into that.”

“No?” Christian gets out. He files that away to think about later. Much later. When he’s at home, in his own bed, with some time to really think about things. And recall the look on Kuzy’s face. And V’s. And—At least Christian managed not to ruin his suit.

The noise levels have picked up. Kuzy’s flat on the bench again, his captain and his A carefully checking him over. Still nude, of course. Christian can see the exhausted slump of Kuzy’s shoulders, and the slight flutter of his fingers over his sternum as Ovi asks him questions in low Russian. He also catches Kuzy flipping Ovi off, and can’t smother the laugh in time.

Some things are the same, then. They’re still team. Just … Christian gets it now, the blushes and furtive looks but no one ever actually saying anything about the post-game in the big leagues. Or, well, at least not what happens behind locker room doors.

Nicke looks up and catches Christian’s eye. Christian raises his chin, fully aware of his splotchy blush and mussed hair. Nicke’s smile is small, but there’s something there, something like a test that Christian’s passed.

And Christian, well … he eyes the now-empty bench speculatively. One day, he’ll earn it.


End file.
